Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Sicktember Prompt 15: Quarantine, with John and Gordon (requested by janetm74)
"I," his brother declared in the exact manner that promised an imminent headache, "am bored."
John sank deeper into the soft pillows of the couch in their assigned room and pretended he hadn't heard him as he turned a page in the book he was re-reading for the seventh time. In all honesty, he could understand where Gordon was coming from; for a place that insisted that none of its temporary inhabitants leave their quarters, the entertainment provided was shockingly lacking.
Even the wifi was awful, so the tablet he'd brought with him had been eventually abandoned on the glass coffee table after John had realised the problem wasn't one he could troubleshoot with the technology he had on hand – no, it was a case of a dodgy wire somewhere, and their hosts had given the exact same response to his complaint that he was now giving to Gordon's complaint.
He did, somewhere in his heart, love all of his brothers. As far as families went, he was well aware that he and his brothers were unusually close and tight-knit, especially considering how many of them there were and the age range they covered. However, when it came to being confined in a single area for two weeks after being accidentally exposed to a potentially dangerous contaminant, there were very few of his siblings that he would choose to spend that time with.
Gordon was at the absolute bottom of that list.
Virgil would have been his brother of choice – quiet, considerate, and perfectly capable of entertaining himself without disturbing John for hours at a time yet also a source of intelligent conversation. About as ideal as company was possible to be under the circumstances.
If the internet was working as it should, Alan would also have been acceptable enough. John might have found himself dragged into a few hours per day of gaming, but as a general rule the virtual world could keep his youngest brother entertained for weeks, provided he wasn't interrupted. In quarantine, interruptions were unlikely to be frequent.
Scott would have been agitating. John was well aware what sharing a room with his big brother entailed, and while Scott ranked at least as highly as Virgil when it came to respecting John's wishes and finding his own entertainment, his sole older brother craved the outside world. The longer Scott was cooped up, the more unbearable he became; by the end of the first few days, he would literally have been climbing the walls.
A cooped-up Gordon was even worse. Their accommodation had a pool – but it was off-limits, leaving the family fish high and dry and immensely displeased about it. John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother's hair without a crusting of either chlorine or sea salt; to say it was jarring was an understatement.
Forced to find other entertainment – something their accommodation, as previously stated, was rather lacking in – Gordon had first turned to his default. Stuttering, buffering streams of Into the Unknown had blared out on repeat until his brother had grown fed up of Buddy being interrupted mid-word as the wifi dropped out again. The silence when he'd given up and turned off the device had been heavenly, if short-lived.
The book selection was sparse enough that even John had struggled to find anything worth reading. Decades old romances with battered and dog-eared pages dominated the minute collection, something neither of them had much of a desire to read, although Gordon had got desperate enough to flick through one of them for approximately two minutes before tossing it on the floor and face-planting the couch with an agitated groan. John's current selection was historical fantasy – still a far cry from his wheelhouse, but bearable enough in a pinch.
That being said, by the time they were considered safe to leave, he was never going to want to see Song of Albion again.
"John," Gordon repeated, bringing his unwilling attention back to the brother stuck in the same predicament as him. "I'm bored."
Any attempts at ignoring him a second time were scuppered by the way the cushions of the couch abruptly sagged and a blond shock of hair rudely inserted itself between his face and Llew's current situation. The scent of hotel-issue strawberry shampoo assaulted his nostrils with its unfamiliarity.
"And what do you expect me to do about it?" he asked, relocating the book so that there was no longer a brother's head in the way of the words, although it left the pages close enough to his nose that the neatly typed font blurred into something barely legible.
"Be interesting," his brother insisted.
He must have really been desperate. John was well aware that, just as Gordon was his last choice for a forced confinement companion, the same was true the other way around. No doubt if he had his way, Gordon would be stuck with Alan – two troublemakers often on the same wavelength. The integrity of the room would be certainly questionable by the time they were released, but at least they'd keep each other entertained. If they didn't fall out and tear each other apart.
Failing Alan, his next choice would likely be Virgil, although Virgil would probably disagree with that; he put up with Gordon quite enough in transit between danger zones and home, after all. Scott would also be a fitting choice, at least in John's opinion – the two of them could bounce off of the walls together.
John wouldn't even register on his preferences – and now he wanted him to be interesting?
"Since when do I ever interest you?" he pointed out, pushing his shoulders further into the cushions to get enough space between his nose and the book.
"Don't be like that," Gordon huffed, yanking himself upright and fidgeting his way into the cushions. "Who else gives me a challenge when we play chess?"
John could concede that point, he supposed, but, "we don't have a chess board."
"Noooo," Gordon confirmed, but the way he drew out the end of the word implied there was about to be a "but" coming. "But we have pieces!" His departure from the couch was as sudden as his arrival had been.
John hadn't seen anything of the sort, but even if they had pieces, they still needed a board.
Besides, chess alone wasn't going to get them through the rest of their enforced quarantine – they were only on day two of fourteen as it was.
Watching Gordon rummage around through the drawers in the room, much like he'd done on their first day, did, however, prove marginally more entertaining than re-reading any more of the same Stephen Lawhead book for the time being. Even more fascinating – in a slightly incredulous fashion – were the so-called 'pieces' being tossed into a haphazard pile on the presumably once-plush carpet.
No expenses had been spared for their accommodation. At least the couch and beds were soft enough to be comfortable.
Whatever Gordon was throwing onto the old and worn carpet was definitely not a chess set, by any stretch of the imagination. No, they were horrid plastic pen lids, present in a wide array of colours and a couple of different styles.
One that looked like it might have once been olive rolled away from the pile and bumped into John's foot. The colour was not particularly appealing, but he found himself leaning down to pick it up regardless. The cap itself was a uniform width the entire length, with regularly spaced ridges and divots running down them, presumably to aid with grip during its former life as an active pen lid, rather than some discarded junk in the back of a drawer.
"So, you'll take ridges and I'll take smooth?" Gordon asked, startling John as he popped up in front of him. The pile of pen lids – no pens themselves in sight – clattered together where they were clustered in his cupped hands.
"These aren't chess pieces," John felt compelled to point out. Gordon – junk-loving Gordon –shrugged.
"Just use your imagination," he dismissed. "See – this red one's a rusty old knight, that purple one's a regal queen, and that green one's a pious bishop!"
Each tacky, plastic thing was deliberately placed on the glass table as he spoke, producing a dull tink upon contact.
Was John bored enough to play a game of chess using ancient pen lids that were probably a long way past the end of their plastic lifespan?
"We don't have a board," he pointed out again. Gordon rolled his eyes.
"Imagination, John. Or improvisation." He brandished a marker that he'd presumably found in the same drawer as their bizarre chess armies before popping off the lid and drawing straight onto the table.
The marker was a navy blue, leaving messy streaks and fading in and out as the ink protested its first use in what was likely years. John should probably be the responsible big brother and stop Gordon from vandalising the table – the marker looked suspiciously like one of the permanent variety – but, well, he was bored, too.
Their hosts should have supplied a better selection of entertainment – or at least reliable wifi – if they didn't want them getting creative.
John set the book down on the couch, not bothering to save his place or even memorise the number – what was the point if he'd already memorised the book – and started to sort through the pen lids, picking out the ridged ones and mentally designating which one would correspond to which piece.
Chess would not keep them occupied for another twelve days, but it would at least suffice for a few hours. They'd work something else out later.
Not actually anything by way of 'sick' in this one - all my brain jumped to for 'quarantine' was relevant to current events, and I don't want to write that, so I didn't. So instead we just have two brothers forced into cohabitation for a while.
I'm dabbling in Sicktember over on tumblr! Only doing prompts that I get a character request for, so feel free to drop by with a request. You can find the list on the sicktember tumblr blog!
Thanks for reading!
Tsari